Rebirth
by skyjadeprincess
Summary: One story ends and another begins.
They say there was a thin line between love and hate.

And they would be correct.

Dimly, he was aware of his mother's yelling. Her face was red with anger as she dragged him up the stairs to this room. He wasn't aware of what she was saying.

It felt like he was listening to the adults on old Charlie Brown cartoons.

In other words, it was going through one ear and out the other.

He couldn't focus. All he could think about was what happened that day. It replayed in his head over and over like a broken record. There was a roaring in his ears that was louder than the crowd at a stadium during a football game.

He was jerked back to reality as his mother opened his bedroom door.

"Wait until I tell your father about this!" She yelled. "How dare you pull a stunt like that? You could've been killed! You're grounded for an entire month, young man! Now get in your room! You can forget about getting dinner. I don't want to see you again for the rest of the night, understand!?"

Then she shoved him inside and closed the door after her.

Slowly, he turned around.

It was a testament to his worship. His eyes slowly scanned the walls. It was full of framed articles and photographs. Childish drawings of his idol. Pictures of them smiling for the camera as they posed together. Scraps of paper proudly displaying his hero's autograph were also tacked to the walls.

At the wall in front of him, there was a large picture.

Featuring the center of his universe.

He still felt numb as he closed the curtains of his windows and turned on a nearby lamp. He felt like he was walking around in a mental fog. Nothing had gone the way he expected.

He slowly walked up to the large poster of his hero.

Numbly, he took off his mask.

His gaze drifted downwards. He stared at the blue and white outfit with matching gloves and cape. He made the outfit himself. His grandmother had taught him how to sew.  
His gaze slid over his blue tights and the damaged rocket boots.

His chest tightened as he gazed at the letter "I" proudly displayed on his shirt.

He stared up at the poster again.

He couldn't look away.

He just stared.

Memories flashed over his mind's eye. He remembered pushing his way through the crowds as his idol made an appearance. Shouting his hero's name, begging for his autograph. Screaming his hero's name, begging to pose with him for pictures.

Playing hero and villain with his friends in his backyard.

Always insisting that he play the hero.

Grabbing the morning paper before his father could read it. Feverishly scanning the pages for any articles or photographs that featured his hero in the slightest manner.

Driving his mother practically insane as he begged her to drive him to the local framing store. Carefully cutting out articles and photographs from papers and magazines. Grinning somewhat manically as his father helped him secure the framed articles and photographs to the walls.

Staring at the ceiling as he lay on his bed with his hands behind his head.

Fantasizing about his dream.

He would close his eyes and imagine the both of them side by side, posing dramatically for the public. Pictured them giving the usual dramatic speech to any criminals or supervillains who dared to endanger the public.

Would imagine them back to back as they were surrounded.

Determined to triumph despite the odds stacked against them.

Today was the day his dream would come true. During every spare minute, he worked feverishly in his room. His costume had to be _perfect_. He worked forever on those rocket boots. He didn't believe in false modesty.

He was a genius when it came to his inventions.

He was sure those inventions would come in handy in the future.

He'd pictured a dozen scenarios in his mind as he prepared for this fateful day. The day his dream would come true. The day all his fantasies would be realized.

Surely his hero would be grateful for his help.

He would see they were meant to be.

One scenario pictured arguing cheerfully with his hero. Eventually, his idol would be won over by his fervent attitude and his ingenious inventions. Another scenario had him imagining that he would swoop in and save the day if his hero was in trouble.

All of the scenarios ended with them posing side by side.

They would stand there with legs splayed and their hands on their hips.

They would stare sternly into the horizon as they posed for pictures. The police would congratulate them and the surrounding crowd would chant their name. That was the day his hero would make it official.

And he would be forever known as-

"BUDDY GUNTHER PINE!" His mother screamed, banging on his bedroom door. "I JUST GOT A CALL FROM THE POLICE! IT WAS WORSE THAN I THOUGHT! YOU ARE GOING TO BE GROUNDED FOR _SIX_ MONTHS, MISTER MAN! JUST WAIT UNTIL YOUR FATHER HEARS EVERYTHING! HE IS REALLY GOING TO MAKE YOU SORRY! THIS IS IT, BUDDY! NO MORE FAN CLUB! NO MORE HERO FANTASIES! THIS CRAP ENDS NOW! IT'S HIGH TIME YOU GROW UP AND FACE REALITY! YOU'RE GONNA BE SORRY YOU EVER STARTED THIS, BUDDY!" He slowly clenched his gloved hands into fists, not noticing as his mask drifted sedately to the floor. His mother began stomping down the stairs. He glared at the picture again.

My name is _not_ Buddy, he thought venomously.

He _despised_ his name. His hero repeatedly uttered his civilian name, refusing to acknowledge his alterego. Buddy was _not_ a name to be proud of. It was pathetic.

It was a joke.

A constant reminder of his _ordinariness_.

While he admired the supers, he couldn't help resenting them as well. It wasn't fair they got such powers. Such amazing, incredible gifts. No matter how he wished with all his might, he didn't have any powers.

 _"This is because I don't have powers, isn't it? Well, not every superhero has powers, you know. You_ can _be super without them."_

Against his will, the day's entire events replayed in his mind's eye.

Today...sucked, to say the least.

There was nothing worse than watching your dreams explode into a million pieces. It was if his hero had no qualms plunging his dagger into his heart. Or using his superstrength to tear him in two.

His hero was supposed to be kind and jovial.

He was supposed to be warm and supportive.

It was supposed to be perfect. He would become his idol's ward. He would eagerly absorb everything the older man had to teach. He would be the best student. Attentive, eager, diligent, determined to work hard every day until he had each move down.

His idol was supposed to be perfect.

Until that day, he never really had an interaction with his hero.

No one liked to be reminded that their idols were human. With real flaws. Full of human pride, hubris and weakness.

His hero wasn't supposed to be rude and condescending.

Or cold and dismissive.

It was as if he got to see the man behind the mask. The real person behind the hero's persona and personality. It was as if his blinders had been removed.

Truth be told, he didn't like what he'd seen.

It was amazing how six little words could turn your world upside down.

 _"Fly home, Buddy. I work alone."_

Until that moment, he would've done anything for his hero. He would've thrown his body in front of his hero to shield him from bullets. He would create a diversion so his hero could save the day. He would gladly sacrifice his life if meant his idol could live another day.

If it were possible, he would move mountains and empty the oceans in the name of his hero.

Then came the fateful moment his hero killed his dreams.

They say the man revered life and didn't like killing.

They lied.

He was a murderer.

A bastard who didn't hesitate to kill his dreams.

He felt like his hero had torn his heart out. The moment he uttered those damnable words, he was saying he wasn't good enough. He wasn't worthy of being his sidekick.

He was weak.

Pathetic.

As he continued to glare at the poster, at that annoying, smiling face, his numbness vanished. A dark rage replaced it. He glared at the poster one last time.

Before grabbing it and throwing it aside with all his strength.

He panted, glaring at the spot where the poster used to be.

If he wasn't Buddy Gunther Pine, if he wasn't his idol's sidekick, then who was he? What could he do now? It was like life had no meaning because his hero wanted nothing to do with him.

His eyes hardened.

No.

NO!

He wouldn't let it end like this.

As he continued to glare at the spot, a sudden onset of clarity hit him.

"I'm not Buddy." His eyes shifted to the poster. In a cruel twist of fate, the poster was face-up. He glared at that eternally smiling face. "I'm not Incrediboy, either." He slowly walked up to the fallen poster, his eyes flashing with grim rage. "Who am I, you ask?" Resolutely, he kicked at the poster contemptuously. I'm Syndrome, your _nemesis_."


End file.
